


Everybody Needs Coffee

by Lauralis_Ember



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralis_Ember/pseuds/Lauralis_Ember
Summary: All she wanted after a particularly long and arduous sail to the small coastal village was a cup of hot coffee. She didn't expect to meet a silver-haired woman who called herself the "Mother of Dragons" unironically. And she most certainly didn't expect to fall in love... twice.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> During a particularly bad bout of writer's block, I managed to binge all of Game of Thrones in the span of a month. I couldn't get this (quite frankly) ridiculous story out of my head and decided to write it all down. What started as a self-indulgent attempt at smut for my very bisexual self ended up becoming a story with some sort of a plot. 
> 
> This isn't meant to be taken too seriously. Enjoy!

Prologue  
\---------

Georgetown is a quiet village during winter. As the days grow longer and the nights colder, the hustle and bustle of summer tourism starts to fade. The locals breathe a sigh of relief as they can finally begin to wander the streets without bumping into masses of inconsiderate tourists. 

For many small owners, it meant a break in sales. Some, however, had to keep up with local demand. 

One such shop stood at the corner of East and Maine Street--a small, mom-and-pop coffee shop run by a family who’d lived there for generations. And just across from it stood Snow Tattoo Parlor, a fitting name for a shop that remained open during the winter. 

It was in these cold months when the two owners--a silver-haired queen and a dark-eye stranger--started spending their nights in the warm light of the woman’s shop, sipping on sweet coffee drinks and chatting about everything and nothing at all.

Chapter 1: A Stranger in Town  
\--------------------  
I wandered into Georgetown late fall, exhausted from my previous excursions around the world. I docked Persie in her usual spot in the harbor, happy to be on dry land again but a bit sad that the season was over. It’d been a good one, too--full of adventures and mishaps and way, way too much rum. 

“Hey, Alice! Packing up for the season?” 

I smiled. “Yep, time to get rid of my sea legs now that it’s getting colder.” I looked at her. “I’m surprised you remembered my name. It’s been a few years since I’d been out this way.” 

Arya smiled, holding out an arm to catch the line I was about to throw.

“Good customer service,” she said. I smirked and gestured towards her open arms. 

“Are you sure you’ve got it?” I asked. Last time I’d tried to dock, Arya had been a bit… too enthusiastic about catching my lines. 

“You know, I’m not a ‘little girl’ anymore,” she scoffed. “Besides, I’ve been practicing.”

I coiled the line and tossed it with ease. To my amazement, Arya didn’t even flinch. The rope landed squarely in her left arm. I watched as she dashed across the dock to tie off the line and sprinted back towards me, effortless. 

“Impressive,” I said, smiling as I tossed her the bow line. She didn’t miss a beat. 

Grinning, I tossed the last line her direction. “You’re pretty much ready to run this place now,” I laughed. 

She smirked, knowing she just successfully tied down every line necessary to keep Persie in place for the winter. “I’ll go tell Rob that you’re here,” she said. Arya sprinted up the dock towards the town, her short, jet-black hair bouncing behind her. 

A cold breeze blew from the east as I glanced at coastal tourist town. It was quaint, a lot like I remembered--colorful buildings that looked like they came right out of a picture book, shops lined up next to each other like old books on a shelf. The wide harborwalk that would normally be bustling with tourists was almost empty in the mid-afternoon sun. Only one ferry remained in the dock, and I knew it wouldn’t be long until they left for warmer waters as well. 

I sighed and began packing up my things below deck. These next few months would be cold and a bit lonely, though I was ready for a change of pace. 

But first, I needed coffee. 

_____

I’d been nearly a month without coffee. 

That, in itself, is a travesty. No--it’s a sin. It’s a sin and I have no one else to blame but myself. I thought I’d packed enough for the trip across the Atlantic--one giant Folgers container--but I didn’t anticipate how much coffee I’d really need as a solo sailor making one of the most difficult journeys of my life. I also didn’t anticipate spilling coffee grounds all over the galley floor when I forgot to put the lid back on while underway. 

The only place to get coffee in Georgetown in the winter was at Dragon’s Roost Coffee. It wasn’t my favorite place to sip on a mint latte--the owner had a habit of being a real annoying chatterbox and seemed a bit full of himself--but it would do in a pinch. 

As I rounded the corner between East and Maine I noticed something different about the little shop. For one, it was no longer named “Dragon’s Roost”. The old logo had been ripped out and a new, shiny, black label stood in its place: “Fire and Ice Coffee House.” Through its big, glass windows, the store looked the same as it always had--but there was a warmth to it that I didn’t remember feeling before. 

A bell rang as I entered. A beautiful, brick wall full of shelves of books stood to my right, while an assortment of mis-matched tables and cozy armchairs lay scattered about the room. The bar was located near the back of the room, with a small aisle between it and the wall that lead to what looked like an even cozier room. Beautiful, hypnotic paintings the sizes of windows decorated the walls. But what really took my breath away was the woman at the counter. 

She smiled in my direction. Her blues eyes were sharp, inquisitive, and intimidating--as if she already knew everything about me from just one stare. Long, wavy silver hair tumbled effortlessly down the gorgeous, white, cable-knit sweater she was wearing. 

“Hi, welcome to Fire and Ice Coffee House. What can I get you?”

She was making eye contact with me. Intense, very direct eye contact with me. 

“Uh, yeah… hi!” I managed to say, averting my eyes. Behind her was a large black chalkboard with a handwritten menu. A small logo of a dragon breathing fire was drawn in intricate detail near the shop name. 

“I was here a few years ago, and… I didn’t realize the store had changed,” I said, trailing off. Her eyes turned cold. 

“Yes, the previous store belonged to my brother,” She paused. “Is there anything I can get you?” 

“Oh, right,” I laughed nervously. “Can I have a mint latte?” 

“Absolutely." She turned and started working with the espresso machine. 

“I mean, I like it!” I said. “It’s got a much… nicer atmosphere, to say the least.”

_Why am I so nervous?_ I thought. _I’m just getting a coffee._

On the wall to my left was a large, colorful piece of impressionist art of a woman and a black dragon. The colors danced off the canvas, giving off a sort of dream-like, psychedelic look. Once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop staring. 

“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?” 

The woman turned, holding my finished latte in her hands. The large, green mug almost seemed too big for her delicate fingers. 

“For what my brother was worth, he did know something about art,” she said, a faint smile tracing her lips.

“Did he paint that?” I asked, reaching for my drink. Our fingertips touched briefly, and what felt like a shock of electricity ran through my arm. 

“Not at all,” she laughed. “My brother didn’t have patience for anything. I doubt he’d be able to hold a brush long enough to make a single stroke. But he did like to bid on expensive art and… well, for what it’s worth, it was always beautiful.”

She gazed into the painting, as if reliving some sort of memory. I took a sip of my latte. 

“Well, I’m glad you put it up. Art like this is meant to be appreciated.”

Her trance from the past was broken, and she gazed at me with unwavering, piercing blue eyes. She smiled. 

“It is.”

I took a sip of my latte. It was perfect--it had the right amount of mint-and-coffee flavor ratio. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I said. “I’m gonna be around for a little bit and this coffee is amazing, so--”

“It’s Daenerys,” she responded. “But most people call me Dany.” 

_Wow, what a gorgeous name._

“Dae-ner-ys,” I grinned. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” Suddenly I felt a buzz from my pocket. My phone read 5:30 pm, and the alarm was going off. 

_Shit, I’m late to meet with Eddard!_

“Hey, so so sorry but I’ve gotta run. I need to catch Eddard before....” I stared at my still-full mug. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Daenerys said. “You’re gonna be around for a little bit, right? Just bring it back when you visit next time.” 

I looked at her, incredulous. “You trust a stranger?” 

She laughed. “I’ve got plenty of mugs if you decide to run away with that one, if that’s what you’re asking. And… any friend of Eddard is a friend of mine.” 

_Wow, she really is beautiful._

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring it back ASAP.” I said, waving as I walked towards the door. “And thank you!” 

I didn’t look back as I exited the quaint coffee shop. I was afraid that if I did, I’d never stop staring.


	2. One Less Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice spends an evening with the Starks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops... my fingers slipped and I accidentally created an AU. The Danny x Jon Snow x OC will happen soon, it's just a matter of building up the story.

“Hey, hey! So, so sorry I’m late,” I called, frantically knocking on the door of the Stark’s cottage. It looked the same as I remembered--like something out of a fantasy novel, beautiful, ancient stone walls and warm light emanating from small, rectangular windows. The sun was setting, and I could make out hints of frost beginning to crystalize on the ancient panes. 

Heavy footsteps made their way to the front door. A man with deep brown eyes and short, wavy hair opened it. I didn’t recognize him.

“You’re Alice, right? Arya told me you were coming,” the stranger said. “Welcome. I’m Robb.” 

_Robb_ , I thought to myself. _He must be Eddard’s son. I remember him talking a great deal about how he’d gone off to travel the world last time I was here._

I glanced at him. “Nice to finally meet you! Eddard talked a lot about you last time I was here,” I said, smiling. “Speaking of, where is he?”

Robb looked away. 

“Robb! Did you get the door yet?” A voice rang out from down the hall. I recognized it almost immediately. 

“Catleyn!” I called as she rounded the hall. She was a small woman, with gaunt features and haunting brown eyes. Her stature didn't make her any less imposing. Catleyn's glare could kill a man. 

Her eyes lit up. 

“Alice! It’s so good to see you,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Come in, quickly. To keep out the cold.”

I walked through the doorway and stared at the quaint cottage. I’d stayed a while here before, a few years ago, when I was fixing up Persie to begin sailing. The Stark’s Inn was one of the best places in the harbor to hole up for the winter. They had a reputation for being incredibly warm, friendly, and true to their word--you’d never catch a Stark trying to upcharge you as a way to make an extra buck.

“We were just about to sit down for supper,” she said as she guided me past Robb, down winding hallways towards what I figured would be my room. The old building creaked and groaned, alive with the footsteps of the many who stayed at their inn. 

“Again, I’m sorry for being late. I sort of got caught up--” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I know how... hard it can be for you sea-folk to judge the passage of time.” She gave me a sort-of half smile. “Here we are.”

Catleyn opened a creaky wooden door to reveal a small room with stone walls, a bed and a lamp tucked away in the corner. One window looked out towards the harbor, and there was a desk right next to it, a perfect place to spend the day writing. 

“Bathroom is down the hall to the left. You’ll be sharing with the girls, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue,” Catleyn said. 

“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” I said, slipping her a wad of cash before setting down my bags. The Starks were a bit old-fashioned when it came to payments, but in my mind, that was a part of the appeal. 

“Supper’s ready,” she called, headed out the door. “Lateness can be forgiven, but a missed meal might not go over so well.” 

I nodded, set down my bags, took a deep breath, and followed Catleyn to the kitchen. 

The sounds of laughter echoed down the dark hallways, and I was greeted by the smiling faces of the Stark family. Arya, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, and Rob--the lot of them made up one of the biggest families I’d ever known. They acknowledged me with a chorus of “hello’s,” though Rickon was a bit too busy slurping down stew to notice. Sansa shot an annoyed glance at the younger boy. 

Everyone was eating, but the head seat at the table was empty. 

“Where’s Eddard?” I asked. The sounds of slurping immediately stopped. I swear you could’ve heard a pin drop. The sound of a chair screeching across the tile floor caught my attention, and in a flash Arya left the table with a huff. Catleyn glared at Rob, who sighed and left his seat to follow the feisty young girl. 

“Alice,” Catleyn began, face softening. “Ned disappeared a year ago. We suspect…” she glanced down the hall, where Arya and Rob had wandered off. “They told us he got caught in a squall on the way back from a fishing trip.” 

My blood ran cold. I hadn’t know Eddard that well, but he was the first person to greet me when I pulled up the newly-purchased Persie to the dock. He made me feel a bit less nervous about taking a chance at fixing up my own boat and being a solo sailor. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I muttered. I eyed the soup in front of me, suddenly a little less ravenous than I was a minute ago. By the looks of it, I’d just ruined what was supposed to be a lovely family dinner. Catleyn caught my eye and muttered a ‘thank you’. 

“But enough of that,” she said, straightening up in her chair. “Let’s enjoy this meal together, shall we?” 

I nodded, and dinner continued in silence until Rob entered the dining room and cracked a joke about the unpredictable weather in Georgetown. It was raining, and out the window I could catch a glimpse of Persie’s mast bobbing up and down in the choppy water. Soon, the room was full of conversation, clinking glasses, and laughter. 

Arya never returned to the table.


	3. Writer's Block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the story I wrote to get rid of writer's block ended up becoming blocked itself. Who could've guessed?
> 
> This will probably become one of the cheesiest things I've ever written since those FireheartxSandstorm fanfics I secretly wrote in middle school. Let's live a little, right?

“Crossing the Atlantic on a 34’ schooner was… I crossed the Atlantic….”

I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. This wasn’t working. On good days, writing an article about my travels was a breeze. On bad days, I had to coax myself with five cups of coffee and a pacing session around my room in order to stitch together a few decent paragraphs. 

Today was one of those bad days, when nothing made sense and every sentence I wrote sounded like it belonged in the imaginary waste basket that exists in every writer’s head. 

I sighed and stared out the window. I’d done everything right this morning--I woke up early, checked up on Persie, eaten a decent enough breakfast--but none of it was working. Theoretically speaking, I was in my zone, my happy place, my laptop perched on the small, oak desk while the quiet sound of rain soothed my mind in the background. But no matter how hard I tried, the words wouldn’t stick. And I had a deadline to make. 

I shut my laptop in frustration and grabbed the yellow slicker and my satchel from the back of my chair. I needed some fresh air, and it was almost lunchtime. Might as well head into town to grab a sandwich. 

As I walked down the hall, the events of yesterday’s dinner ran through my mind. I cringed inwardly as I passed the door to Arya’s room, hoping she was feeling a bit better today.

Stepping into the rain, I relaxed. As a sailor, storms weren’t something I enjoyed. As a writer, I loved them. 

Without realizing it, my feet had led me to the entrance to Fire and Ice Coffee. I stared through the big windows into the warm shop and caught a glimpse of the same woman working there as before. Only this time, she wasn’t alone--a broad shouldered, dark-haired man was leaning across the counter. The two of them seemed to be laughing. 

Something about the scene made me feel… strange. I wasn’t sure what, or why, but I immediately started to walk away when I remembered the green coffee mug Dany had given me earlier. To my surprise, I’d packed it in my satchel. 

Well, I gotta go in now. 

A soft bell rang as I entered the quaint coffee shop. The dark-haired man looked up, and I was struck by the warmth behind his eyes. The laughter stopped as I entered. 

“Hi,” I called out, waving timidly towards the two. I held out the green mug. 

“Hello Alice,” Dany smiled my direction. My heart skipped a beat. What was wrong with me?

“I really didn’t expect you to bring back that mug, you know,” she mentioned. “But I’m glad you did.” She took the cup from my hands. “Mint Latte?” she asked. I nodded, impressed that she remembered an almost-stranger’s order. 

The smell of espresso filled the air, and before I knew it I was holding the same green mug in my hands--except this time, it was full of a delicious, freshly-made latte. Feeling timid, I thanked Dany and made myself comfortable in a seat near the window. 

Laptop, open. Page, blank. Latte, delicious. 

Quiet laughter drifted from the counter. I watched as Dany and the stranger talked. The corners of her blue eyes crinkled as she laughed. 

_Focus, Alice._

_‘The ocean draws each sailor in for a different reason. Some leave land for a rush of the wind that ripples through schooner’s sails, while others are called by an insatiable sense of adventure-’_

The lack of ambient sound in the coffee shop drew my attention away from my work. The man Dany was talking to had disappeared.

“What are you working on so diligently?” The silver-haired woman called from behind the counter. I blushed, worried that she might’ve noticed my obvious staring. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just--”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” she winced, looking apologetic. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

I laughed. “You’re not interrupting anything, trust me,” I said as I stared at the measly paragraph I’d managed to write over the course of fifteen minutes. “At this rate, it’d take some act of god to get me to send a fully developed article to my editor in the next two hours.” 

“Oh, so you’re a writer?” Dany asked. It looked like she was pouring herself her own mug of coffee. I suddenly became aware of the fact that we were the only two people in the shop. 

“I guess,” I said. I thought for a moment. “I always hate saying that, though, you know? It sort of just comes off as… pretentious.” 

Dany laughed. She sat down on the large, leather chair across from me, back as straight as a ruler. She looked positively regal even though a few stray curls managed to escape her complicated updo. 

“My brother always said he was a ‘writer,’” she rolled her eyes. 

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of writer?”

Her blue eyes caught mine. 

“The kind that gets one A on an English final in high school and suddenly takes it upon himself to edit the rest of my AP English papers,” Dany scoffed. I burst out into laughter. 

“You let him do that?” I said between breaths.

“Let him? I had no choice!” she nearly spit out her drink. “I’d wake up and find red marks all over my final drafts. I never had time to reprint them so every single draft I’d turn in would be covered with his ‘corrections’!” 

“And this is why I never say I’m a writer,” I teased as I caught Dany’s eye. She smiled. 

“I like to write a bit,” she said, taking a lengthy sip from her coffee. “Menus, mainly.”

“Are you serious?” I tried to hold in a laugh. 

Her eyes turned cold. “I take great pride in the subtle but heroic art of creating tantalizing descriptions of various baked goods and coffee-related drinks.” 

I gave her a blank stare. 

“I, uh… I’m sure--”

“Of course I’m not serious!” Dany cut in, giggling. “I mean, some places have their menu descriptions down to an art, but I’m definitely not one of them.” 

She reached a delicate hand over my shoulder. My breath quickened, only to realize she was just grabbing a menu that was perched on a shelf behind me. She pointed to one specific description in curly font. 

**‘Mint Latte…. A latte with mint syrup.’**

“How creative,” I teased. She gave me ‘a look’. A look I couldn’t quite decipher, but it made my heart race nonetheless. 

“So, what do you write?” Dany asked, leaning forward in her chair. Warm light emanated from the fireplace to my left, bathing her face in a soft, orange glow. 

I glanced at the clock. Time seemed to be passing quicker that I anticipated. The professional part of me knew that I should cut off the conversation there, give a curt ‘thank you’ to the woman who’d just managed to brighten up my day a little bit and continue writing. Or at least, I should’ve sent a letter to my editor telling them that my rough draft was going to be late. 

Instead, I closed my laptop and answered Dany’s question. That I was a freelance travel writer for a large number of magazines and online publishers. That I’d spent the last four years traversing the world by sea. That no matter who I met or how far I traveled, I’d always felt like I was chasing something impossible. 

The shop closed at five. We couldn’t stop talking, even as I made my way out the door. Talking to her was like playing a game of ping-pong. Each idea, quip, or thought bounced effortlessly between our two minds. I hadn’t felt this awake in ages. 

As I headed back towards the Stark’s Inn in the dimming light, Dany’s bright blue eyes burned in the back of my mind like the north star on a clear, winter night. 

I sank in my chair back at the Inn. I booted up my computer, the same, unimpressive paragraph sitting before me. 

I took a breath. And then I began to write. 

_‘The ocean draws each sailor in for a different reason. Some leave land for a rush of the wind that ripples through schooner’s sails, while others are called by an insatiable sense of adventure. Some make their home on the waves because the only way they could feel at home is in the rocking and rolling of a wild ocean._

_For me, it was different._

_For me, it was all about chasing the right shade of blue.’_


	4. Journalistic Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity killed the cat... but if the cat's in Schrodinger's box, then does it matter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last episode of Infinity Train season 3 really bummed me out so I decided to write another chapter to lift my soul out of its deep existential crisis. Enjoy!

I woke up to the sound of bickering. 

Well, that was putting it lightly. 

Catelyn Stark’s voice was firm, strong. Calm in a way that might suggest peace, but in reality I could hear how much she was holding herself back. Arya, on the other hand, was wild. 

“You never let me do ANYTHING!” Arya’s voice cut clear through the early morning. 

A slam of the door. The pitter-patter of feet crossing the dock. I opened a bleary eye and stared out the window, just making out the faint outline of Arya’s leaving form. I groaned and shifted in my bed, staring blankly at the clock across the wall that read “10:21 am”. 

Shit!

I sprang into action, immediately opening up my laptop to check for emails. There was one--and only one--a bright, white unread email against the dark grey background of my account. 

**Re: Rough Draft**

**Deadlines exist for a reason--**

**-L.F.**

I groaned and slammed my head against the table. All things considering, this wasn’t the worst possible response. After my coffee shop escapade, I’d spent the next four hours writing and rewriting that longform article with a newfound passion. 

Still. This was the second time I was late with a deadline. I couldn’t make a habit of it. 

“You know how hard it’s been since Ned died--”

I sat up and peered over my laptop.

“And I’m so sorry about that. But Catelyn, you and I both know--” came a man’s voice I didn’t recognize. Looking out the window, I saw Catelyn and a short man with thick, curly brown hair talking, in earnest, in front of the Inn. 

Catelyn pinched the bridge of her nose, brow furrowed.

“Just one more week, okay?” she said. It was hard to make out their conversation through muffled glass. 

The small man shook his head. “If you wait, you know I’m going to have to involve my father.” 

Silence. 

I contemplated sinking back in my chair, or putting on headphones to drown out their conversation. A part of me felt bad for eavesdropping. I couldn’t stop. 

“You know we were here long before your family ever laid foot in this harbor,” Catelyn said. There was something new in her voice. I could feel the ice in her words, cool venom lacing every syllable. 

“Which is why my family has been so generous,” the man responded. 

Suddenly I was no longer looking at the tops of their two heads, but into the dark brown eyes of the shorter man on the ground. In a split second I ducked from my perch at the window. He’d already seen me, though, and I knew it was too late. I cringed inwardly and pretended to gather my things. 

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Someone knocked loudly on my door. 

“Hey, Catelyn,” I said, managing a shy smile as I opened the door a crack. “How’s it going?”

“Did your mother ever teach you to mind your own business?” she cut in. Her eyes were a storm. 

“Well, I’m sort of a journalist, so my whole thing is about NOT minding my own business--” 

I could tell from the look on her face that that was definitely the wrong thing to say. 

“The Stark family’s worries aren’t your concern,” she finished. 

“Are… is the Inn going to be alright?” I asked, attempting to break the cold silence. 

Catelyn sighed. The storm brewing behind her eyes dissipated. Her shoulders slumped, and the cold, confident woman that came barging into my room was lost.

“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Winter is coming. The Starks have always been resilient.” 

I was about to ask if there was anything I could do to help when Catelyn cut in again. 

“It’s a beautiful day. Don’t you think it’s about time you went for a walk?” 

I could sense the urgency behind her words. I nodded curtly and grabbed my laptop. I wanted more than anything to get out of that room and forget about the tense and awkward conversation I’d just had with the person who was letting me stay for the winter. 

I hurried down the stairs and out the door.  
____

I decided to try another part of town today. Though I couldn’t get Dany’s blue eyes out of my mind, I knew going back to the shop would mean I’d definitely not get any work done. 

There was a small chain-food cafe down the street from Fire & Ice Coffee. While not usually the kind of vibe I go for, today it seemed like the perfect place to set up shop and stop disappointing my editor. 

I turned on the corner of East street only to see a familiar pair of feet racing across the road. Short, black hair bounced as she ran. What’s Arya doing out here?

The young girl opened the door to a shop titled “Snow Tattoo Parlor.” What was a kid doing over there? I’d already gotten in trouble for eavesdropping once today, it would probably best if I didn’t do it again. Still, I couldn’t quell my curiosity. 

I silently cursed my journalistic nature and opened the shop door. 

“Hey,” I called out to no one in particular. A man with a scruffy beard greeted me with a smile. Behind him, Arya’s eyes went cold and she immediately crossed her arms. 

“What are you doing here,” she spat. I didn’t know a young girl could look so menacing. 

“Arya, remember what I told you about being nice to our customers,” the dark-haired man said. The sleeves of his black button-up shirt were rolled to his elbows, showing off an impressive array of colorful tattoos on each arm. His black hair fell in soft waves across his shoulders, eyebrows furrowed as he shot a stern glance towards Arya. 

“It’s alright,” I smiled back, hoping to break the tension. “I got into a lot of adventures when I was her age, too.” 

I held out my hand. 

“I’m Alice,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jon Snow,” he said. His handshake was firm and steady. “And this here is--”

“She knows who I am,” Arya cut in. Jon gave me another look, but I just laughed. 

“I’m staying at her family’s inn,” I explained. “I’ve got a boat in the harbor. She helped me dock Persie.” 

A hint of what I thought was recognition passed through Jon’s deep brown eyes. 

“It doesn’t look like you have an appointment,” he said. I suddenly remembered that I was in a tattoo shop. “But this is my slow season, so …” 

“Ah, I’m not here to get a tattoo!” I blurted out as if he might start poking my skin with a needle at any moment. 

The two of them stared at me quizzically. 

“Well, then, what are you here for?” Jon asked. His eyebrows furrowed. 

It took a second before I realized how strange it was that I entered a tattoo parlor without any intent of getting a tattoo. 

“I’m actually writing a story about small tourist shops that stay open during the winter,” I said, surprising myself with my quick thinking. “I was wondering if I could interview you?”

“Well, this is hardly a tourist shop…” Jon muttered, putting emphasis on the word ‘tourist’ like it was something dirty. I backpedaled. 

“I didn’t mean it that way, of course not,” I chimed in. “I just meant that this town doesn’t see nearly as much business during the wintertime, so lots of stores close up around then. I wanted to see how the different seasons affect your business....”

He still seemed a bit miffed by my use of the word ‘tourist’. 

“...and do a profile piece on people who own the shops in the area.” I’d assumed he was the owner, considering the name of the tattoo parlor. 

Arya was still frowning behind him. Jon remained silent and still, as if he was still measuring my words. 

“I write for an online travel publication. Lots of shops that we do features on end up getting a boom in business right after,” I added, hoping he might take the bait. Doing this wasn’t exactly unethical, per say, but I usually only brought out the idea when I felt like I needed to.   
Plus, when I started talking about this next idea for my piece, I realized that I wanted to write it. It was too late to back down now. 

The line on Jon’s brow hardened, and he stood up from the old black stool he’d spent the majority of our conversation perched on.

“Thank you for your consideration, but I don’t need any of your publicity,” he responded gruffly, turning to stack a few papers on the glass display shelf. 

I was taken aback. I’d had my fair share of uncomfortable conversations in my line of field, but usually any businessperson would jump at the mention of ‘free publicity.’ 

Quickly, I collected myself. 

“I completely understand,” I said with a smile although I most certainly did not understand. I looked Arya in the eye. “I’m not going to say anything, okay? Our secret.” 

Arya smirked, a glimmer of mischief in the corner of her eye. I smiled. 

“Well, thank you for your time,” I called out as I was leaving. “It really is a great shop you have!”

The door closed behind me with an unintentional slam as a gust of wind rose from the east. I grimaced, the chilly autumn air sinking right to my bones. 

That could’ve gone better, I thought. But I wasn’t too upset, because something was telling me there was more than meets the eye to that little tattoo parlor. 

And I was going to find out.


End file.
